


could be wolves

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So it was safe to say most everyone knew the tales of witchers - of how they were sometimes more like the monsters they hunted than the humans they claimed to protect. They were ignored at best, hated at worst, and none more so than Geralt of Rivia, the white-haired, the infamous Butcher of Blaviken.or, 5 times Geralt is more monstrous than Jaskier expects, and 1 time Geralt is just as human as Jaskier knows him to be
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 90
Kudos: 1205
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	could be wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vvitchering (Witchering)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchering/gifts).



> so the idea for this goes to [hannah!](https://twitter.com/vvitchering) coincidentally, this is also her birthday present! happy birthday!!!!

i. Jaskier first meets the white wolf of Rivia in a tavern in upper Posada. He’s heard stories of witchers before, of course, all manner of small children around the continent have.    
  
“Go to bed,” Jaskier’s nannies used to sing, “Or the witcher will eat you whole!”    
  
So it was safe to say most everyone knew the tales of witchers - of how they were sometimes more like the monsters they hunted than the humans they claimed to protect. They were ignored at best, hated at worst, and none more so than Geralt of Rivia, the white-haired, the infamous _ Butcher of Blaviken. _   
  
Jaskier had heard that story, too, but something about it always felt off. It never made sense to Jaskier, why would someone whose entire livelihood rested on not being run out town slaughter men in the middle of the market?   
  
So he had listened to the stories, but never quite believed them. And then he met his first witcher. Geralt of Rivia. Alone in a tavern, Jaskier had walked up to the witcher with nothing but a pint of cheap ale and stale bread stuffed in his pockets and Jaskier had  _ spoken _ to him.    
  
“Curiosity killed the cat,” his nannies always said, but what they didn’t know was that satisfaction brought it back.   
  
And Jaskier was certainly satisfied with all the things he was learning.    
  
The witcher talked in a way that didn’t show his teeth because they were sharper than a human’s, and his grins could quickly turn from comforting to sinister. The witcher towered over all humans, though he tried to make himself appear smaller. The witcher didn’t really want to hurt Jaskier, had pulled that punch to his gut and tried to barter for his freedom when staring down an irate elf. The witcher  _ bites _ , as said elf had figured out when her nose got a little  _ too close _ to Geralt’s mouth.    
  
Geralt had grinned, feral and bloody, when the elf fell back on her ass, coughing and sputtering around the blood pouring from her nose.    
  
Jaskier watched it all from the corner of his eye, comparing what he thought he knew about witchers to what he was learning about  _ this _ witcher.    
  


ii. If the display in the cave was meant to scare Jaskier off, it really didn’t. The experience left him with a welt on his forehead that quickly bruised an ugly shade of purple to match the bruises blooming across his ribs. It hurt to breathe, but Jaskier was nothing if not stubborn.    
  
So he followed Geralt - wrote a song about the whole experience in the cave, and was working on spreading it to every corner of the continent. It wouldn’t change everyone’s mind, but if it could change a few, it would mean they would get run out of towns less often.    
  
That would’ve been nice tonight, but the town was barely tolerant of Jaskier and definitely wasn’t tolerant of his travelling witcher companion. They spat at Geralt’s boots, screamed obscenities at him, locked their doors and covered their children as he walked past.   
  
Only Jaskier could hear the low snarling building in the back of Geralt’s throat. It was one Jaskier recognized as Geralt feeling  _ cornered _ . So Jaskier had gently grabbed Geralt’s wrist and tugged him away.    
  
When Geralt had asked what he was doing, Jaskier had snorted. “I'm sure you can find us a much lovelier spot in the forest than this backwater hamlet. At least in the woods I won't have to worry about waking up with a knife to my throat.”    
  
And Geralt had found them a decent spot, a clearing that was mostly flat and tucked away from the main road. He had tied roach off to a tree, before vanishing into the woods, leaving Jaskier to set up their camp.    
  
Jaskier hummed as he worked, and by the time Geralt was back he had everything set up except for a fire. Most everything Jaskier could do by now, but starting a fire still eluded him. He couldn’t strike the stones right, couldn’t get the kindling to light no matter how hard he tried. So he left it to Geralt.   
  
But sometimes...sometimes Geralt  _ forgot _ . Like tonight. Geralt emerged from the woods just as light was fading, blood smeared around his mouth and with three rabbits swinging from his belt. He sat down by the pile of wood Jaskier had gathered and had the rabbits skinned in record time.    
  
Geralt threw one at Jaskier, who caught it with a muffled gag, before biting into his own. The meat was still raw and bloody, and though Jaskier had sacrificed a lot of comforts to travel beside the witcher, this would  _ not _ be one of them.    
  
“Geralt?” The man grunted around a mouthful of rabbit. “Can you..can you please help me start a fire? I know you prefer your meat more on the  _ living side _ , but I'm afraid this will make me sick.”    
  
Geralt’s chewing slowed, and he set the rabbit down into the pile of fur. “Sorry,” he muttered, once he had swallowed his bite.    
  
The fire was glowing a cheery red in no time, and Jaskier carefully roasted his own rabbit over the flames. It was only after he was done eating, and they were settled down for sleep that Jaskier realized Geralt had  _ apologized _ earlier.    
  
He turned to where he knew Geralt was laying, and did not flinch from the luminous eyes peering at him from the darkness. “You know you have nothing to apologize for, right?” The eyes narrowed slightly. “I do mean it - you are who you are, witcher mutations and all. I know you’re not used to traveling with...well, anyone really, but I don't expect you to change much because I'm here. Just...teach me how to start a fire, please.”    
  
The eyes blinked, and Jaskier heard the amused sounding hum that sounded from somewhere below those eyes. “If you say so,” Geralt said, before he rolled over.    


iii. They’re camping in the woods again when Jaskier finally gets to see Geralt act the most like the monster the stories claimed him to be. It was late, the sun had long disappeared behind the horizon and the fire was dying. Jaskier had his back against a tree just outside the circle of light, and was alternating between writing a new ballad and watching Geralt check over his gear.    
  
Geralt stopped suddenly, hand tightening around his sword. He stood up swiftly and that was when Jaskier heard a twig snap somewhere behind him.    
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt growled. “Come here.”    
  
“Yes, yeah, of course.” Jaskier scrambled up and swiftly made his way behind Geralt. When he turned around, there was a bear nosing at the spot he had just vacated.    
  
Geralt lets out a growl that Jaskier has never heard before, and the bear stands up on its hind legs. Geralt is no small man - he towers over Jaskier and is nothing but  _ muscle _ , but this bear makes Geralt look like a child’s toy. Geralt straightens up to his full height, a rare occasion, and takes a step forward.    
  
Geralt’s eyes are glowing in the dying firelight. He draws his lips back, and bears all of his too-sharp teeth. The growl he lets out this time is enough to make Jaskier’s heart skip a beat, even though it isn’t directed at him, but he’s not  _ truly _ afraid because he  _ knows _ that Geralt will not hurt him.    
  
The bear pauses, considering, before it goes back to four legs and ambles off into the forest.    
  
Jaskier lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d holding, and the noise causes Geralt to whip around and stare at him. Geralt’s eyes are still wild, teeth still bared, adrenaline running high from the whole encounter, but his sword is down by his side.    
  
“It's gone now, Geralt,” Jaskier says, calm despite the very obvious predator in front of him. “You scared it off. Thank you for that, by the way, I really didn’t fancy being bear food tonight.”   
  
The more Jaskier talks, the more the feral look fades from Geralt’s eyes. The man takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring the way they do when he’s tracking something by scent. “You’re not afraid.”    
  
Jaskier pauses. “Should I be?” Geralt gives him a look. “Yes, yes I know the stories. The big bad witchers who will eat you whole. It’s a load of bullshit, I'll have you know.”    
  
Geralt snorts, and moves to put his sword away. “You’re a strange one, bard.”   
  
Jaskier makes a noise of agreement, and settles back into his spot against the tree. “So I’ve been told.”

iv. Perks of getting close to a witcher include getting insider knowledge to all things witcher related. Well, maybe not all things, but after spending many years traveling with Geralt on-and-off, Jaskier likes to think he knows more than pretty much anyone else on the continent.    
  
For example, he knows just how sensitive a witcher’s nose is, how overwhelming scents can be if used too much. It's why Jaskier tips just a few small drops of chamomile oil into the bath and not the full pour he’d normally give himself.    
  
He knows that witchers, or at least  _ his _ witcher, prefer bath water almost scalding. Jaskier dips his fingers in and pulls them back with a hiss almost immediately. Yep, definitely warm enough for Geralt.    
  
The man in question is on the other side of the room, sitting cross-legged by the fire and looking for all the world like he’s fallen asleep sitting up. A fool’s mistake, Jaskier knows.    
  
“Geralt,” he calls, and Geralt turns to look at him. “Your bath is ready.”    
  
For the most part, Jaskier lets Geralt bathe himself. The water is too warm for Jaskier to do much anyways, even if he wanted to, so he sits at the singular table in their room and works on his newest ballad until he feels Geralt’s eyes on him.    
  
“Yes, Geralt?” he looks up, and locks eyes with Geralt across the room.   
  
The man hesitates, so unused to asking for things that he wants, no matter what it is. “Can you…” He lifts a hand out of the bath water and gestures to his hair.    
  
Jaskier eyes the rat’s nest the witcher currently calls a hairstyle. “Hmmm…” Jaskier’s tone is teasing, and he’s already getting up, even as he makes a show of being indecisive. “I suppose I will take pity on you and help.”   
  
It takes half a bottle of oil and some vigorous brushing on Jaskier’s part for Geralt’s hair to look even halfway presentable. The brush is set to the side for now, and Jaskier is just combing his fingers through Geralt’s hair, teasing out any remaining knots and working through a little bit more of the oil.   
  
Geralt’s hair is soft, when it’s not matted and filled with leaves, Jaskier realizes. And then he realizes that Geralt has gone practically boneless in the bath. The man’s eyes are closed, head tipped back and breathing even...except...there’s a slight rumble at the end of every breath, something that almost sounds like….   
  
“Are you purring?” Jaskier curses his mouth when the witcher immediately stops and his eyes snap open. “Sorry, sorry...I didn't know you could do that. Just go back to what you were doing, I’m almost done here.”    
  
Geralt’s eyes narrow slightly, but he does as Jaskier asks.    
  
It takes two firm passes through Geralt’s hair before Geralt starts purring again. This time, Jaskier keeps his mouth shut.   
  


v. Travelling with a witcher is not always fun and games. Sometimes, though this is _very_ rare as most people are not _stupid_ , people think they can try to control Geralt. It never works out well, the witcher is as resistant to a leash as he is to actually _talking_ about his feelings.   
  
Needless to say, most people who try to collar the white wolf end up scared shitless or dead.   
  
This is the first time Jaskier has ever had anyone use _him_ as blackmail. He had known, of course, what people thought about him, about the bard who traveled with the famed white wolf. He knew what rumors were spread about their relationship, knew that behind his back, people hissed out all kinds of insults.   
  
“Witcher’s _whore_ ,” they’d spit, and Jaskier would grin like it was a compliment and play louder.  
  
So no, maybe he didn’t refute the rumors, maybe he could admit that he wanted them to be more true than they were, but he never expected them to lead him to _this._   
  
The bandit pressed the blade harder against his throat. “C’mon bard, we know you can sing _real_ pretty like, so why don’t you tell us what the Butcher’s weaknesses are?”  
  
And see, here’s the thing about that - Jaskier knows the truth now, about what happened in Blaviken, knows that the butcher was created by people who didn’t want to believe that something _other_ could have been protecting them.  
  
Jaskier spits out blood onto the bandits shoes and glares at him as best he can with one eye swollen shut. “I'm afraid the butcher is just a _tale_ , told to scare children into behaving.”   
  
The bandit does not like that answer one bit, and he rears back to land an open-palmed slap across Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier jerks from the impact, but then he grins like he’s seen Geralt do and hopes it’s even half as effective.   
  
In the end it doesn’t really matter how effective it is because suddenly Geralt is _right there_ , a whirlwind of silver and white and black, cutting down bandit after bandit with a ruthlessness Jaskier has only even seen used on the toughest of monsters.   
  
The bandit with the blade to Jaskier’s throat moves behind the bard, but never takes his eyes off the slowly approaching wolf. Jaskier may not have a witcher’s senses, but the man behind him now _reeks_ of fear.   
  
Geralt must smell it too because that feral grin appears, and his eyes are wide and he’s splattered with blood and Jaskier finds it maybe a little bit unfairly attractive. The bandit behind him whimpers and Jaskier would roll his eyes if he could.  
  
“S-stop there! or I'll slit his throat!”   
  
Geralt’s eyes narrowed as he considered the man’s threat. He slows to a stop, and with his hands raised, slowly sets his sword down on the ground beside him. “Jaskier,” and Jaskier nods slightly, wincing as he feels the motion draw blood. Geralt almost snarls at the red welling underneath the bandit’s knife. “Stay still.”   
  
Geralt launches himself forward in one powerful leap. He tackles the bandit to the floor, and the man’s arms pinwheel as he tries to keep himself upright. The knife clatters to the floor somewhere out of sight. There’s the sound of flesh tearing, and a wet gurgle, and Jaskier can see blood pooling just out of the corner of his eye.   
  
But then Geralt is in front of him, and his mouth and teeth are smeared with gore but he’s untying Jaskier and releasing him with a gentleness usually reserved just for Roach. He looks like the wolf everyone believes him to be. Jaskier has never felt more safe.  
  
“Geralt,” Jaskier calls. The man doesn’t seem to hear him. “Geralt!” His voice cracks and _that_ gets Geralt to stop and _look_ at him. “I'm fine, I promise. Let's get out of here, okay?”  
  
Slowly, Geralt helps him to his feet and together they make their way out of the camp to where Roach is waiting. Later that night, after Geralt has thoroughly checked and worried over each of Jaskier’s wounds, Jaskier finds himself thinking.   
  
“Say, Geralt,” and his uninjured eye is bright as he makes eye contact with the witcher over the fire. “This would make quite the song, wouldn’t it?”  
  
Geralt’s lip curls at the idea, revealing a fang. Jaskier laughs, but does not add this story to his collection.   
  
  


vi. Another thing Jaskier has learned about Geralt - the man is surprisingly patient and kind to children. Anytime he talks to a child he kneels down to their level, talks to them like  _ people.  _ He lets them tug on his hair and ask question after question. There is no annoyance in his gaze when this happens, just warm fondness at these tiny humans who are not afraid of him.    
  
Today, it seems that the handful of children who have taken a fancy to Geralt are wanting to braid his hair. Jaskier laughs and makes his way over to help them.    
  
Together, they make a beautiful, misshapen, mishmash of several types of braids. The children are ecstatic that the witcher has let them braid his hair, and Jaskier is trying not to laugh at how  _ bad _ it looks on Geralt.    
  
Eventually, the children have to head home for lunch and it’s just Geralt and Jaskier in that field of flowers.    
  
Geralt stretches himself out. He’s belly down in the dirt, head in Jaskier’s lap in a not so subtle way to get the bard to fix the mess that is his hair. Jaskier does not tease him about it, but works gently to remove all the braids.    
  
He braids Geralt’s hair again, neater than the first time. There’s a braid from each of his temples, wrapping around the sides of his head until they merge into one long braid down the back of his head. It’s not a far cry from Geralt’s usual style, but Jaskier feels a special sort of pride knowing that  _ he  _ did it, that Geralt  _ let _ him.    
  
Geralt is still dozing in the sun, and Jaskier can feel the man purr from where Geralt’s chest is pressed against his leg. Jaskier passes the time by picking all the flowers near him and braiding them into Geralt’s hair.   
  
He can’t help but giggle at the sight, so Geralt must know he’s up to  _ something _ . But the man does not move. If it were not for the small twitch of his lips curving upwards, Jaskier would almost assume Geralt was asleep.    
  
At some point, Jaskier runs out of flowers and Geralt rolls over. His head is still in Jaskier’s lap, his face is smooth, relaxed. It's peaceful in the field, and Geralt is a vision, spread out and sun-warmed amongst the flowers. Jaskier wants to kiss him. Wonders what would happen if he did.    
  
Quickly, before his courage melts away in the warm afternoon sun, Jaskier presses a chaste kiss to the side of Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier is not surprised when Geralt turns his head to capture the bard’s lips in a true kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from the amazing devil song [wild blue yonder](https://theamazingdevil.bandcamp.com/track/wild-blue-yonder)


End file.
